


Denouement

by AccursedSpatula



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Community: norsekink, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-26
Updated: 2011-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-26 13:49:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccursedSpatula/pseuds/AccursedSpatula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“<i>Thor? </i>” he screamed, frantic now, fingers digging into his brother’s cold skin. “Thor, <i>please! </i> You <i>can’t</i> be dead, you can’t be dead, you can’t be dead....”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Denouement

**Author's Note:**

> Norsekink fill. http://norsekink.livejournal.com/3231.html?thread=7535007#t7535007

Thor’s undoing began with a spell, a spell Loki had never used, never tested, one that he had found hastily scrawled in the front cover of a dusty old tome in an unused corner of the library, one that burst forth on his tongue in a moment of blind rage as he battled with his brother on a deserted, crumbling block of what had been New York.

The moment he finished uttering it, Loki regretted it. He wasn’t the type to charge into battle without knowing his exact limits and abilities, and to have used this unconfirmed, unknown spell of questionable origins was something completely against his philosophy. For a moment, however, it seemed to work brilliantly, Thor dropping Mjolnir as he was flung backwards, skidding to a stop in the asphalt some feet away.

Loki smiled victoriously, twisting his grip on the whip in his hands, and began to saunter assuredly over to Thor, when his brother’s twisted, agonized scream froze him in his tracks. He stood stock-still, afraid to move now, wondering just _what_ the spell had done, only to have his concentration broken by another cry.

The first scream Loki had thought may have been a ruse constructed by Thor, something to lure him close so Thor could deliver a solid blow, but the second scream, and now the third, were so imbued with genuine pain that Loki knew it was no ploy. These were shouts of a terrified, tortured man, and Loki dropped his whip and simply _ran._

He dodged rubble and obstacles to fall to his knees at Thor’s side, quickly surveying his brother and feeling utterly helpless as he did so. Thor was twisting and convulsing in pain, and Loki saw that all of his brother’s wounds were now bleeding heavily, far worse than they had a few minutes prior. Thor’s eyes were frightened, and in that second they both knew what the outcome would be, despite whatever Loki did to try and fix it, despite how hard Thor fought to stay alive.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Loki whispered, words tumbling carelessly from his mouth. He felt something run down his face, something hot, and he licked his lips to find the salty taste of tears there.

One hand snaked out to cradle Thor’s head, feeling blood there as well, from some unseen injury on the back of Thor’s skull, and the second rested at the base of his brother’s throat, channeling any magic, any force, any will he could to reverse this spell, but Loki could feel a blackness, a sheer darkness and ruthlessness lurking there, one that would not let go of its hold on Thor now that it had tasted him.

“ _No,_ ” Loki repeated, insistent, channeling harder, but he could feel the blackness threatening to engulf him as well, and he was forced to stop, pulling his hand off Thor’s chest and resting it on his own thigh.

“It hurts,” Thor choked out, rushed, and Loki could see the tears brimming in his eyes. His brother _never_ cried, not even when he got stabbed that one time in Niflheim. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be happening—Thor was invulnerable, Loki had seen him get thrown through buildings and walk it off without a scratch, yet now here he was, laying here, unable to do anything but _writhe_ in utter agony, in the pain that Loki had inflicted upon him.

“I know, Thor, I know,” he whispered, tentatively reaching out to stroke Thor’s hair, brushing it back from his face, his brother wincing and squeezing his eyes shut. The tears there finally ran down his face, leaving thin trails of clean flesh in his soot and blood covered skin.

“I don’t…” his chest heaved, and he broke off into a loud cry of anguish. “I don’t want to die,” he managed once the worst had passed.

“I know,” Loki repeated, his voice stuck on repeat, and he realized now that he was trembling. Thor had been shaking since the moment Loki hit him with the spell, his brother shivering as though he were simply cold and not contorted in utter pain, and now Loki’s hands were quivering as he tried to clean some of the blood from Thor’s face, pushing blond strands now dyed red from his brother’s eyes and forehead.

A large hand suddenly pawed at his chest, and Loki panicked for a moment, unsure of what Thor wanted, and he made a motion to push Thor’s hand away, but the moment Loki’s arm came into contact with Thor’s palm, his brother grasped it, his grip still like iron, and Loki understood that Thor simply wanted the contact. He gripped his brother’s hand fervently, as if he could tether him to the world with this simple gesture, hold him so tightly that Thor wouldn’t be able to leave, no matter what forces threatened to tear them apart.

Thor convulsed in pain again, eyes wrenched shut, screaming as he arched his back and thrashed, still careful to not strike Loki, and by the time that pang had passed he was reduced to sobbing and begging incoherently. Loki tried to soothe him, petted his hair and whispered reassurances amidst his own tears, a vain attempt to calm Thor as he jerked.

Thor swallowed thickly once the worst of the pain had temporarily passed. “I’m scared, Loki,” he whispered. “I’m so scared.”

“Me, too,” Loki answered with a rushed breath. Thor was pale now, ashen almost, the wonderful golden hue gone from his skin. His hair was grayed and dulled as well, and the bright red stains on his skin were a stark, unsettling contrast. Thor tried to speak again, but nothing but blood came up, beginning to run from his nose as well.

Thor’s body wracked itself once more in spasms, each one accompanied by a scream more bloodcurdling than the last, and Loki’s skin began to prickle as he sat there, whimpering and clutching Thor’s hand fiercely.

“Don’t speak, Thor,” he urged, but Thor shook his head, grimacing, and then opened his eyes to stare at Loki.

“S-Scared,” he managed, squeezing Loki’s hand with what little strength he had left. Loki’s heart was wracked with guilt, one that crushed his ribs and stole the breath from his throat, just as he had stolen the life from Thor in one fateful second. Thor’s gaze was so vulnerable and raw and tortured and simply so _afraid_ that Loki whimpered for a long second, beginning to hyperventilate.

He wanted to tell Thor that he was frightened too, that he had no idea what was going to happen now, that he had never meant for it to be like this, but he could see that Thor was slipping, his consciousness consumed by anxiety and anguish in whatever lucid moments the pain granted him now. Suddenly there was a desire to apologize, to make a vain effort to set things right before Thor passed, but Loki choked it down. He had burned this bridge with his brother long ago, and he would have to live with this guilt and shame.

If he repented now, of course Thor would accept him; he was dying and delirious. Loki would live forever tormented by his own questioning of the validity of Thor’s forgiveness. There was pride there as well, a pride that forbade Loki from ever admitting fault or incorrectness, and that pride stilled whatever words were left after Loki’s questioning.

Thor alternated between periods of almost lucidity, when he would toss a word or phrase at Loki, and long stretches of agony, where he was left thrashing and jerking in pain, screaming without any kind of restraint, and all Loki could do was helplessly stroke his hair and hold his hand. The pain quickly drowned the lucid periods, and Thor was suddenly caught in a never-ending loop of anguish, shouting until his voice gave out, and even then attempting to yell, coughing and sputtering out between cries.

The worst was when Thor’s voice would give out mid-scream, when it would suddenly drop to a hoarse whisper, and the startling contrast between the silence and the din were unsettling. Thor had no tears left in him to cry, none whatsoever, having spent them all in the throes of misery Loki had cast him into.

His breathing shifted into panting, and the fear in his eyes multiplied, darkening clear blue, and Thor thrashed harder than ever, denting the asphalt around them with his struggles, until he went still, an eerie, unsettling stillness, as though he were a marionette and his strings had just been cut.

“Thor?” Loki asked, staring at his brother’s blank blue eyes. “Thor?” It became less of a statement, more of a demand as the seconds ticked on, Loki’s hand stroking his brother’s face, trying to coax a reaction from waxen features, to draw life from dead flesh.

“ _Thor?_ ” he screamed, frantic now, fingers digging into his brother’s cold skin. “Thor, _please!_ You _can’t_ be dead, you can’t be dead, you can’t be dead....”

Thor didn’t respond. His eyes were glassy and empty, the muscles in his face going slack and relaxing, the suddenly peaceful expression a certainty that his brother was now gone. “Thor?” Loki continued, persistent. “Thor, please wake up. You have to wake up, you can’t die….”

Silence, punctuated by a far-off round of machine gun fire.

“Thor?”

Utter quiet.

“ _Thor?_ ”

Nothing.

“Thor!” Loki raged, releasing his brother’s hand to strike at his face, and then to bring his fists down on Thor’s broad chest. “Don’t you fucking leave me! Don’t you…fucking… _die!_ ” He didn’t care about profanity, about using words he’d picked up from these mortals, because for a brief second he saw the genius in them, the purpose behind their vulgarity, and he embraced the primal, emotional nature of it.

He beat on Thor’s chest for a few moments, until his own sobs overtook him and he lay there, prostrate over his brother’s chest, crying helplessly after attaining what he thought he had wanted for all these years.

It was over. Thor was dead.

Loki had won.

He was still weeping when the surviving Avengers found him, encircling him but keeping their distance. Loki didn’t fight back, instead inviting them to finish him, and from the dark, harrowed looks they gave him, Loki knew they wanted to. He knew Tony Stark would gladly reduce him to a tiny pile of ash, that Steve Rogers would tear him limb from limb, that Clint Barton would string him up and poke him full of holes just to watch Loki suffer.

But none of them did.

Instead, they let him finish mourning, and then led him away, Tony pulling Loki off Thor’s body, grabbing him from behind and restraining his arms while Steve stood over his brother. He looked up at Loki, naked hatred and anger and sadness on his face, but Loki was too empty, too exhausted to react, too drained of any and all emotions at this point to care.

“Close his eyes,” he requested, and Steve, for reasons Loki would never understand, obliged him, kneeling down and brushing his hand over Thor’s face. Loki smiled, and then he was hauled unceremoniously away, led into a future where he hoped he would suffer every day for what he’d done here.


End file.
